4 November to 6 November 2015

Our last stop in Cuba is Viñales, in the very west of the island, opposite Baracoa. Its close location (185km) to Havana ensures that there is a constant and large influx of tourists, who come here for one to three days, like ourselves. We can tell that the region is more prosperous than other places we have visited. The tourists are surely one factor, but maybe also the tobacco production.

We visit the tobacco fields and farmers with our guide (I have forgotten the name, but it was probably Rafael, Alejandro, Luis, Carlos or Jose). It is a lovely late afternoon and the landscape with the fertile fields and mountains is gorgeous. We watch the sunset from a little tobacco farm, where I drink the best Mojito ever and smoke the cigar that comes complimentary with the drink (or maybe it’s the best Mojito because of the cigar?!). When in Cuba…

It rains the next morning, but we decide for a trip to the closest beach Cayo Jutías anyway. We are lucky and the weather clears up on the way. Luis (this is his name), the cab driver, plays some awful Spanish love ballads, which we get full blast from the extra speakers on the rear deck. He is in love with the maid and/or daughter (we don’t quite get to the bottom of it) of our casa particular. That makes him less than pleased to spend the whole day at the beach with Candice and me and he is anxious to return home as quickly as possible. Not our idea of a good service when we paid a whopping 50CUC for the ride (remember, 5x Magaly’s monthly salary).

The beach, however, is worth the money. The water is calm, clear and blue, the sand white, green vegetation in the background, no contermination through hotel complexes, just some beach restaurants and bars that serve ice-cold beer. Some music, too, although not quite the dancing on the beach I had hoped for. The beach is busy with tourists, which provides for entertaining people watching. Highlight are two non-related guys who build their sandcastle with adorable devotion (see photo).

In the evening, we are all up for dancing, now that we are professionals in Latin American dancing. The club, however closes at 1am. We are glad, it just didn’t compare to Baracoa.

The next morning we cycle on crappy bicycles (again!) to the Cueva de los Indios, a cave with an underwater river, and the viewpoint of the Hotel Los Jazmines. The sign there point to London (aw beautiful, beloved London) and to Berlin in the opposite direction! We change it, so it at least aligns. On our way, we see more tobacco farmers sowing on oxen drawn ploughs.

And then it’s time to go back to Havana for our final evening in Cuba. We had cancelled Gregory and I do have a slight bad conscience about it, but there are just much nicer places we knew by now. Instead we stay with a couple around our age with two small children. She is a judge and he a lawyer. Nevertheless, they have to complement their income by running a casa particular in their wonderful flat (Altbauwohnung in German, I can’t find a good translation for it). We had planned to go out big time, but end up sleeping at 11pm. At least, we can wake up early and go for a final run along the Malecon. Weird that my Havana was more about the morning run on the Malecon than the nightlife!

Leandro, my faithful chain smoking cab driver, arrives 30 minutes early at our casa. Not untypical for Cubans at all. Throughout, they are very punctual, which I would have never unexpected of Latin Americans. Candice and I often had them wait. The punctuality score at the end of the three weeks is Cuba 16 – Germany/Canada 0.

We pass the cementary on our way to the airport. Legend has it that a said Amelia Goyri de Adot was buried here with her son at her feet after dying in childbirth. Her grieving husband visited her grave three times a day, knocked on the stone cover with the attached brass ring to let her know he was there and backed away looking at the grave for as long as possible. When she was exhumed a few years later, her son was laying in her arms and their bodies were intact. She has since been adored as a saint, La Milagrosa, and people ask her for miracles in the ritual her husband performed: knocking on the grave, lying down flowers and walking away without turning their backs. The many plaques on the grave and the close vicinity giving thanks for prayers answered are testimony to her powers.

At the airport, Candice and I discover that the 25CUC exit charge has been abolished six month ago. We desperately try to spend the money, but the duty free shopping and restaurants are limited at Havana airport. And then we are off on our separate ways, Candice to Salt Lake City and I to Bogota. What an amazing three weeks. Thanks, Candice, I loved every minute.